


Untitled

by lwm



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, TLV Doctor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-14
Updated: 2014-10-14
Packaged: 2018-02-21 02:51:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2451974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lwm/pseuds/lwm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Mars, the Doctor decides to go get Rose from an earlier point in time. (One Shot)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fogsblue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fogsblue/gifts).



> Special thanks to Calli for doing a beta for me. This was supposed to be askbox fic, but turned into a slightly longer one shot. Oh well...

With a flash of psychic paper and the lift of his left eyebrow, the Doctor slips past the guards inside the palace for the Vaubans’ masquerade. He tugs at the lapels of his tuxedo jacket as he looks down at the crush of people circling the edge of the ballroom floor and the pairs in the centre whirling and twirling about like autumn leaves being blown in the wind.

Stretching his neck, he finally catches sight of _her_ wearing a ballroom dress like something out Beauty and the Beast, and a white silk mask. She’s in the arms of some waddling penguin who seems determined to set on her toes. Feeling a slight tick in his jaw as he grinds his teeth, he makes his way down the steps.

A tiny voice whispers to him that this is wrong, but he brushes it aside. Hadn’t he just proven on Mars that he could be victorious? It wasn’t his fault Adelaide couldn’t see what a gift he’d given her. But _she_ would. _She_ would understand.

At the bottom of the stairs, he glances at the door to the art gallery. There’s another him behind that door who is being forced to listen to an old king reminisce about his youth. Smiling, he shoves past the other guests towards the dancers. She’ll be alone for a while yet.

Just as she’s about to pass, he glides onto the dance floor, politely tripping the man she’s with before sweeping her away into a waltz: clasping one of her hands in his and resting the other light on her waist.

“You could have just asked,” she says, trying to scold him even as the corner of her lips twitch upwards and her hand on his shoulder moves a little closer to his neck.

“And given you a chance to refuse?”

“I’d never –” she suddenly stops and tilts her head. The back of her fingers gently caress his sideburns.

He shudders, squeezing her hand and pulling her closer. “Something wrong?” He tries to think of a thousand and one reasons why his sideburns would be longer as he quietly curses himself for not considering that she might notice the difference.

“No,” she murmurs and he breathes a sigh of relief, “must be my imagination.”

The tightness in his shoulders eases. Thank goodness for human nature, believing what they could see rather than any possible alternative. The voice that whispered before about dangers, now quietly questions her. He tells the voice to shove off.

He squeezes her hand and spins her around, watching as the corner of her left lip inches upwards. His hearts quicken from samba to rumba. All her smiles are brilliant, but this one, this tiny twitch of the lips always comes before – her lips stretch wide, pulling back to show the top row of her teeth. That beautiful smile he last saw at the end of a darkened street. “Rose.”

Eyes closed, his head falls forward and she blinks in surprise as he rests his forehead against hers. The puff of her breath caresses his lips. He wants to kiss her. But first…  

“Come with me,” he rasps, opening his eyes to look into hers. Her beautiful hazel eyes with deep rings of amber around the black of her pupils, fanning out with swirls of gold set on soft blue-greens: the colours of a star exploding. His hand tightens on her waist. “Come with me, Rose Tyler,” he says again, gently rubbing the tip of his nose against hers. As much as he wants to take her, sweep her away into his TARDIS and go, he wants to hear her choose him even more.

Her gaze briefly flickers to the door behind him, the doors to the art gallery, and then back to him.

“Always.”

Before they can complete the final rotation of the waltz, he’s pulling Rose towards his TARDIS, parked close as he dare to the other ship least she wonder about the new location. He’ll kiss her, he promises himself, when they are safely away.

With a snap of his fingers, the doors to the TARDIS open as they rush in and he spins Rose into the jump-seat.

“Where do you want to go? No, no, no, wait,” he says holding up his hands, shaking with excitement, “I know just the perfect place.”

It takes a bit of extra work to get the old girl going, but when the TARDIS still works and the universe stays in place he knows that this is right. That he is once more victorious against the tides of time.

But little did the Doctor realize this isn’t the first time he’s kidnapped Rose Tyler. She leans back on the jump-seat as if it’s a throne watching him with a Cheshire cat grin.


End file.
